


like a lonesome child

by Shenanigans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/Shenanigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His brother had a laugh that was low and rough edged, eyes crinkling as his sunburned nose crinkled up. He smiled like Mom, but Isaac knew better than to say that out loud. He’d buy him a rocket pop at the corner 7-11 and sit on the rickety picnic bench chained up to a lamp post outside, hopped up on the table with his feet on the bench. Isaac leaned against him, fingers sticky and sweet, mouth stained red, then pink, then blue.</p>
<p>"We can just chill here tonight, okay little man?"</p>
<p>Isaac would nod, catching the drip from the bottom of the Popsicle with a quick tongue. “Okay."</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a lonesome child

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick off the cuff backstory for an Isaac muse who wouldn't go away. Un-betaed. All mistakes are mine. Concrit always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

_Isaac had been sitting cross legged in front of the TV, peanut butter at the corner of his mouth and growing pains aching in his shins when the knock came on the door._

 

The day was golden colored in his memory, fragile as spun sugar and perfect. He remembered the way the hair on Camden’s arms glowed golden in the late afternoon sun. He had a rangy walk, like he was slinging his long legs in a bow legged lope. Isaac had been younger then and he was sure that Camden could reach high enough to catch a cloud. His brother would drop an ink stained hand into his floppy tow headed curls, ruffling them as he took a long drag on his stolen cigarette. Camden made it look so cool, like breathing smoke and fire was the essence of what it was to be a man. He always smelled like tobacco and what Isaac could now recognize as peppery dirt weed. He’d had the same floppy curls, grown longer and caught back in a sweat stained Bandanna with broad shoulders draping his t-shirts to hang over his low slung jeans. He wore hemp bracelets and denim like he’d been poured into them, swimmer’s physique kept lithe and lean.

His brother had a laugh that was low and rough edged, eyes crinkling as his sunburned nose crinkled up. He smiled like Mom, but Isaac knew better than to say that out loud. He’d buy him a rocket pop at the corner 7-11 and sit on the rickety picnic bench chained up to a lamp post outside, hopped up on the table with his feet on the bench. Isaac leaned against him, fingers sticky and sweet, mouth stained red, then pink, then blue.

"We can just chill here tonight, okay little man?"

Isaac would nod, catching the drip from the bottom of the Popsicle with a quick tongue. “Okay."

_He’d looked to the hallway, brow furrowing before he’d unfolded with a wince. He bent, rubbing the circulation back into his calves before padding on socked feet on the parquet. He could see the watery blurred image of people at the door through the fancy lead glass pane. His mouth had watered, something electric as fear tucked against his teeth._

Camden’s girlfriend giggled in the passenger seat of the beat up old Camino. It was a mottled rusted out blue with tan leather seats and and old 8track player that his brother was stupidly proud of. The windows rolled all the way down in the front and Isaac would clamber into the small space between Becky’s hip and the door, folding skinny arms on the hot metal to rest his chin. If he closed his eyes, he could hear them talking, singing along with the music like he was underwater. The wind would whip cool over his face and tangle his hair into a snarl. He didn’t mind. Becky’s voice was sweet and low like honey and she would bump against him in time with the beat when she wriggled and danced. She had blonde hair she’d carefully teased into dread locks, big wood beads caught in them. He’d counted them idly as Camden lay with his head in her lap. She wore macrame halter tops and later, Isaac would remember getting hard to the memory of the curve of her breast where it peaked out the side, hinting at something soft and making his palms itch.

The car rattled with each pothole, the heel of Camden’s palm beating out the thrumming tempo as he crowed, head tipped back on a wild eyed smile. Isaac would watch him shave, blue eyes focused as his brother tipped his head up, eyeing his jaw with the soft scratch of razor on skin. He’d lay on the blankets in the park with Cam and his friends, pushing idle fingertips against the rough sharp prick of his stubble. His friends played frisbee and drums. They danced like wind in the trees and Isaac had had his first beer with two giggling patchouli smelling girls tucked on either side. He’d felt warm, close, hugged, accepted. They didn’t care that he liked comic books or was a weedy buck toothed kid with overly large eyes in his face.

They were free in a way that Isaac couldn’t be. Not since Mom died. Camden would check on him before he snuck out at night, their Dad passed out in the recliner in the living room. He’d make sure Isaac’s split lip wasn’t bleeding before kissing his forehead. “I’ll be back soon, little man."

Isaac would nod, rolling onto his side to watch Camden clamber out the window, the sound of his bare feet just a light thump against the tiled roof. “Okay."

_He remembered the way his heart had started pounding, palms sweaty and scalp pulled tight as his throat closed. It burned in his eyes as he moved. Dad wasn’t home. He was still at the graveyard, the teaching job a thing of the past. Isaac made his own bed with neat hospital corners and scrubbed the dishes when dinner was done. He made PBJ’s in between for his own lunch and didn’t tell anyone what was going on. He was just a clumsy kid._

 

Isaac would sit on the back porch with Matt, paging through comics, shoulder to shoulder as his Dad laughed and shouted teasing corrections to Camden as he flopped around in the water. They’d scoot back just enough to keep the cannonball splash from smearing the ink. There was a bag of chips open on the glass topped table, two Capri Sun’s at their elbows. Matt’s breath smelled like fruit punch and Isaac grinned up at his Dad when the shadow blocked the sun. He carried the good days like a folded secret just under his rib cage. It pulled at him like a hook, sharp and painful, but pulling him through. 

The air smelled like jasmine and the thicker smell of sandal wood. Becky was lazing in a tiny string bikini and a beaded bracelet around her ankle. Isaac glanced at her from time to time when she rolled over, the length of her legs tan and smooth. She’d catch him watching, giving him a gap toothed smile with a saucy wink before she clambered up to flop gracelessly into the pool. Camden caught her up, smile bright before he kissed her chin and shook his hair out like a dog.

Camden just made the smallest things seem so easy. His Dad palmed Isaac’s head, pushing at him slightly before moving into the house. Isaac watched him go, the breeze fluttering the pages as Matt read. The pool wasn’t fancy like some in the neighborhood, but Isaac’s Dad was the swim coach, so they’d saved up. It was cool in the summer and warmed in the winter. Isaac would drop to the bottom, folding his legs to watch the sun through the water. He’d stay there in the mottled quiet until his lungs ached before unfolding and arrowing to the top with a wild gasp.

"Little man, you should come on in!" Camden called, splashing with a flat palm to the surface. Isaac glanced over at where Matt had one hand on the juice, the other splayed out at the center of the comic to hold it still. He raised his eyebrows in question. The dark haired boy just shook his head, mouth small around the straw as he filled the pouch with air to push the juice onto his tongue. 

"Naw, I can’t swim."

Isaac looked back at where Camden was bouncing in the water, porpoising under to surface again with a laugh. He shrugged.

"Okay."

_The TV was playing after school cartoons and he could hear it coming down the hall as he touched the door. He pulled it open, face crumbling on a snotty hitched breath. He scrubbed at his face, ducking his head and shook for a moment before straightening up and blinking at the uniformed men with grave faces. “Is your father home?" Isaac just shook his head, clinging to the door knob. The men’s shoes were incredibly shiny, glaring in the California sunlight. They were straight backed, severe, with quiet eyes and low voices. “May we come in, son?"_

 

They had shaved Camden’s head when he shipped out for Basic. He’d come home on the short leave for Christmas with a fuzzy growth and strange tan line where his BDU cap had sat on his head. His Dad was silent, but Isaac followed him around the house until they ended up on the roof, tucked together like cards. The brown shirt was faded and stained at the pits, Camden’s hands tan, but paler where the sleeves had been. He talked about what it was like. He talked about the push ups and the PT. Camden leaned back on his elbows and Isaac was just old enough to not curl and drop his head on his brother’s thigh, sitting with his legs curled up, arms caught around his shins. Camden talked about the time they’d been yelled at by the First Sergeant and a baby bunny had come hopping out of the bushes to stare up at the stocky man while he went red in the face. Camden had pushed for twenty minutes for laughing, but he assured Isaac it had been worth it. He showed Isaac the flowers he’d pressed in the tiny Bible they’d been issued and waxed poetic about the sound of the M-60 machine gun. He told stories about the way the tracer bullets in the night fire exercises had reminded him of the Fourth of July. 

They had run through the streets trailing the stinging sparks of sparklers. He remembered his Mother then, sweet faced with wide blue eyes and Camden’s smile. She’d been willowy and dimpled in her jeans that she rolled over her ankles and the plain coral pink tank top. His Father had watched them, arm slung around her shoulders, glasses reflecting the shower and spark of the fireworks. Isaac had held the Roman Candle that year, shooting it with a wild high pitched laugh until it had fizzled out.

Camden shifted his weight, pulling a beat up pack of American Spirits out of his pocket. he tapped one out, tossing it into his lips to light. He always had this look of concentration as he stared at the fire from the Bic. Isaac wanted to remember that. He wanted to practice that look in front of a mirror. He wanted to have some part of Camden to rely on. His brother dropped an arm around his shoulder, hugging him gruffly and spoke in quiet tones against Isaac’s hair. He’d noticed the black eye. He always did.

"I’ll come back for you," he’d said. “Okay, little man?"

Isaac swallowed, fingers curling into the seams of his jeans as his toes curled in his shoes. “Okay."

_He’d cried silently as he pushed the door open, eyes burning and throat closed before he tilted his head, muscle twitching in his jaw. “Okay."_


End file.
